Hit and Run by Maria Frankland (best book recommendations txt) 📗

“I’d rather you didn’t. Not here. You know what I’ve been through Mum. I find it really hard to be around people who are drinking. Especially when they’re drinking to get drunk.”

She twists towards me, squinting in the early evening sunlight. “Well, tough. Don’t you stand there, judging me. Just because you’re an old soak. If I want to drown my sorrows, no one, especially not you, will stop me.”

I march towards the house before I blow up with her. “You OK Jack?” I call up the stairs, trying to steady my voice. I should have sent her away this morning, whilst I had the chance.

“Yes, Mummy. I’m playing with my train set.”

My heart sags. That’s something he and Rob always did together. They’d be at it for hours. “Dinner won’t be long, sweetheart.”

I pause as I hear Mum clattering around in the kitchen, presumably finding herself a glass, and wait until I hear her footsteps fade back towards the conservatory. I know every nuance and creak of this house. It will be too big for Jack and me. Particularly when I get around to clearing it of all Rob’s stuff. That’s a daunting thought.

I can hardly believe how much life has changed in less than three days. It’s Wednesday evening, and it’s totally unrecognisable from the start of the week. I glance out of the window. Mum’s drinking wine from a tumbler. This is going to be a fun evening. She’s typing into her phone – probably another begging message to Shane. I wonder again what threat he was making. Possibly to tell Dad.

I used to crave Mum’s time and attention, no matter what. This probably went on until Jack was about a year old. But now I wish she would leave. My husband has just died. I’m a recovering alcoholic, and she’s sat in my garden, crying, and getting sloshed. Rob, if he were still here, would probably throw her out on her ear.

“Dinner’s ready, Jack.”

He bounds down the stairs. I hand him a plate of bread to carry into the garden whilst I balance chicken, salad bowls, and the dinner plates. He seems less burdened than he did yesterday. The normality he will have felt from his usual routine must have helped him.

When I was still drinking, eating would take the edge off the desire to drink. Rob would have to coax me to eat. Which I now find myself doing with Mum.

“I’m not hungry,” she snaps. “I’m too upset to eat, can’t you see?”

“Is it because of Daddy?” Jack bites into some bread. “Because he’s gone to heaven?”

I bite my lip. “We’re all sad, love.” I reach for his hand. “What do you want to do after dinner?”

“Can I watch TV?” He looks at me hopefully. He’s easily pleased.

I know I should spend some proper time with him but haven’t got the energy. “Yes. Just for a while and then I’ll run you a bath.”

“Will you bath me Granny Maggie? And read me a story?”

“Another time,” she says. I watch Jack’s face fall. I know how he feels.

Mum’s onto her second glass of wine as Jack races back into the house, the lure of the TV stronger than anything else.

“What am I going to do Fiona?” She looks at me from teary eyes and takes a large drink.

“About what?”

“Shane. I need him to come back to me. I can’t believe he’s gone back to his wife.”

“You can’t control the behaviour or decisions of someone else Mum.” Gosh, I sound like Bryony now. “Why don’t you let him go - make a go of things with Dad?”

“Your Dad? You must be joking.”

“Why?” I want to tell her she doesn’t deserve him, but I would never dare. “If it’s that bad, why don’t you go to Relate?”

“It’s like I said to you the other night. You’ve got no idea.”

The next thirty minutes pass with me letting her rant and wail. I watch her become more incoherent as she empties the bottle. I’m relieved I don’t drink anymore and am possibly coping with Rob’s death better because of this. She’ll probably wind herself into more of a knot, then she will go to bed. However, I watch in dismay as she pulls a second bottle from her bag.

“I’m off to run Jack a bath and get him settled.” I rise from my spot opposite her, pitying this now aging and pathetic excuse for a wife, mother, and grandmother. She thinks about nobody but herself.

I hear her on the phone to Shane again, as Jack splashes around in the bath. She’s louder now that she’s drunk. I hope my neighbours don’t think it’s me. Dad once said our voices are similar when on the phone. Jack decides he no longer wants to play, reality seemingly dawning that Daddy won’t be tucking him in again tonight.

He’s tearful when I take him to his room. I wish my dad was still here to help me. I lay at Jack’s side until he falls asleep, dropping off myself for a while. When I wake with a jolt, the light is fading.

I slide from the bed, and glance out of Jack’s window to see Mum slumped where I left her. I can’t face returning to her, so wander into the room I’ve shared with Rob for the last nine years.

I haven’t opened the blinds all week. Clothes, mine and Rob’s, litter the floor. I walk into the en-suite, trying to ignore Rob’s shower gel, toothbrush, and comb, and wash my face, grateful for the warmth of the water against my tired skin.

Tomorrow I’m going to find out as much as I can about his dodgy dealings and try to put things right. But tonight, I’m going to grieve for my husband, and all we once shared. I open his side of the wardrobe and touch one of the shirts which hangs there. It’s the one he always used to wear when we went out. Not that we’ve been out